


Revery Alone

by sebastianstanstongue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captivity, Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rescue, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebastianstanstongue/pseuds/sebastianstanstongue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony finds solace in the midst of torture and captivity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revery Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueManta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueManta/gifts).



“Killjoy.” Tony lounges on the leather sofa in the common room of the Avenger's quarters, drink in hand, playing his favorite game of Let's Goad Steve Rogers. “You never want to have any fun with me.”

Across the room, Steve swivels around on his stool and leans back with his elbows on the bar.

“I just don't see how a two-man assault on the most heavily fortified compound on the eastern seaboard could be defined as fun.”

“Three-man,” Tony counters as Bucky enters the room. “I'm sure your buddy Barnes here would be down for a threesome, I mean, a fun and exciting mission.”

“No,” Steve says.

“Killjoy.”

“Whatever you say, Stark.”

Bucky grabs some OJ out of the mini-fridge behind the bar and pours himself a glass.

“What say you, Barnes?” Tony says. “Am I right or am I right?”

“A killjoy? Reckless Rogers here?” Bucky says, taking a seat next to Steve. “The man who flies straight into the face of danger on a wing and a prayer, completely alone and with no way to call for support?”

“That was one time!” Steve protests, but he can't quite suppress a smile.

“Yeah, but you don't think I'm gonna let you forget about it, do you?” Bucky grins back at him and takes a swig of his OJ, and suddenly it's just the two of them there sharing war stories. Once again, Tony's the kid with his nose against the glass of the department store window, always on the outside looking in.

One of these days maybe he'll get that Daisy Red Ryder BB gun. Or possibly a pair.

“Okay, fine,” Tony says just to remind them he exists. “We'll do it your way. The _boring_ way.” He settles back into the sofa, but he can't get comfortable. It starts with just a vague queasiness, then his heart rate kicks up to a gallop and his chest feels like it's slowly being squeezed in a vice.

Panic attack he figures, and wonders if he should say something. His companions haven't moved. Bucky's got his back to him, drinking his juice. Steve's still leaning against the bar, but his attention’s fixed on Tony.

“You okay, Stark?”

It's getting harder to breathe, and now there's a tingling in his fingers. The tingling turns to heat, then searing pain. Tony looks down at the neon blue flames engulfing the drink in his hand, flames that slowly spread until his entire arm is ablaze.

“Uh, a little help here, boys,” he says a little too quietly, a little too calmly. He tries to get up, tries to move his arm but there's something he can't see in the way. “I need... help! Help!” His words crescendo and become screams as the flames engulf him fully.

Bucky turns in his seat, but he and Steve make no move to help. They just watch Tony scream, until the walls of the room shimmer and give way to bright lights, a metal table, and electrode-tipped tendrils connecting him to some infernal machine that is finally, blessedly, quiescent.

Tony blinks, knows where he is. Knows he doesn't want to be there. He closes his eyes again and he's back at the Tower. So is Steve, sitting next to him on the sofa.

“Thanks for leaving me hanging like that, Rogers. Did you enjoy the one man pyro show?”

Steve offers him a glass of water with a straw. Tony sips at it, though it's difficult to swallow.

“I'm sorry,” Steve says. To his credit, he does look sufficiently penitent. “You know I couldn't really do anything.”

Steve sets the glass down on the coffee table and grabs a wet hand towel that's laying there. He starts wiping Tony's mouth and chin off with it, which is... weird, Tony thinks. Then he sees the vomit on his chest. He doesn't remember puking at all but that does explain the burning in the back of his throat.

“Oh, that's what that smell is,” Tony says. “Sorry about the mess.”

“Not a problem.” Steve doesn't meet his eyes because that would just make things worse. He's just all business, unbuttoning the soiled shirt and removing it. When that's done, he settles into the sofa and lets Tony lean against him.

“Also sorry I called you names the last time we talked.” In the before time, the long, long ago. How long ago? No clue. A day, maybe two since he was ambushed and abducted at a Wendy's drive-though of all places. It just goes to show, even when you play it safe shit happens. There you are, minding your own business, decidedly not leading an assault on the most heavily fortified compound on the eastern seaboard, and you still end up strapped to a table in a lab with the six fingered man and his life-sucking machine.

“What, when you called me a killjoy because I didn't want in on your half-cocked 'plan' to take down Dario Agger?

“You wound me with air quotes.”

“If that makes me a killjoy...”

“It does. Not to mention a spoil sport and a wet blanket.”

“...then so be it. Besides, I've been called far worse than that.”

“I've thought of calling you far worse than that.” Tony looks around. “Where's Barnes?”

“Do you want him?”

“It's cozier with just the two of us.”

“Can I get you anything else?” Steve asks, putting an arm around Tony and drawing him closer.

“No, but I think I might need to cry now.” Tony presses in and can almost feel Steve's shoulder against his face, solid and sure and safe. He's only about a third of the way through having 'a good cry' before the fire engulfs him again.

When the flames recede, Tony's left shaking and sweating. There's a strange whimpering sound that he can't quite place until... _Oh, that's me_. He turns his head, pressing his damp forehead against the table. The cool metal feels so good. Just a tiny shred of relief, but he'll take it.

Tony opens his eyes. Bucky's next to him on the sofa, reaching over and caressing Tony's forehead with his metal fingers.

“Barnes,” Tony greets him.

“Stark,” Bucky replies.

Wait, back up. It doesn’t have to be like that.

“Bucky,” he tries again.

Bucky grins. “Tony.”

“Bucky... Bucky... yeah, I don't think that name actually suits you. I don't look at you and say, 'you know, that dude's a total Bucky.' If you were eight years old, maybe. But ninety-seven? Or however old you are, I can't do the math right now. Besides, it always reminds me of Buck Rogers. Oh, hey there you go. If you and Captain Blue over there ever decide to get hitched...”

“He has us getting married now?” Steve chimes in from behind the bar. His smile lights the whole room right up.

“Seems so,” Bucky says, and laughs.

“It's not crazy!” Tony struggles to move closer but he's still shaking, can't budge. Bucky obligingly scoots over and wraps his left arm protectively around Tony, cradling Tony's head against his shoulder.

“It's perfectly legal here in New York now, you know,” Tony continues while Bucky lightly runs fingers through his hair. “You old geezers need to get hip with the times. Besides, you have to admit it has a better ring to it than the alternative. Steve Barnes just sounds so... basic.”

Bucky continues to stroke his hair, saying nothing. Tony's whole-body shaking finally subsides to intermittent twitching and his breathing slows. In the temporary silence there's a whirring sound just on the edge of hearing. He needs to fill the silence to drown that noise out.

“Sorry, was I babbling? I'm babbling. I do that when I'm in excruciating pain from sadistic assholes pouring electric napalm on my nerves. I babble. And cry. And piss myself. And offer to sell my mother's soul to make it stop.”

“There's no shame in it,” Bucky says. “It's not your fault.” He leans in and presses his lips to Tony's forehead. “It's not your fault.”

Tony squeezes his eyes shut against the sting of tears. Bucky's words are sweet and exactly what he needs to hear, but they're bullshit. How could he ever believe them?

“You're gonna get me out of here, right?” Tony says, eyes still closed and body tensing against what's about to come.

“Yeah, Tony,” Steve says. “We're coming for you. Just hang in there, okay?”

Tony gives a jerky nod and begins hyperventilating.

“That's... my boys,” he says between ragged gasps, before the fire ignites every nerve ending and they're lost to him again.

There's a blast and a series of pops loud enough to make it through the din of the agony drowning all of Tony's senses. Then... the pain stops. He's being lifted and carried. The cold metal of the arm cradling him is oddly comforting.

There's solid ground beneath him now and Bucky's crouching over him. The night sky is full of stars, and it's the most beautiful thing Tony's ever seen.

“Steve, over here! I've got him!”

Steve appears over Bucky's shoulder.

“Stark!” he says. “Are you with us? Tony?”

Tony smiles. At least, he thinks he smiles. He can't really feel his face or anything else for that matter, which is a relief.

“I knew my boys would find me,” Tony says, his voice a jagged whisper.

“Your boys?” Bucky glances over at Steve with a bemused grin. “So we're your boys now, Stark?”

“Always,” Tony breathes. The stars blink out and he slips into the dark, leaving all fear and pain behind.


End file.
